Impostor
by last place
Summary: AU: There is a fake L examining the Kira case. Only one mysterious, imprisoned Boy knows the truth, but it, along with his identity, is locked deep within his memories. How will this effect Light's fate? LONGER SUMMARY INSIDE
1. Blurry

**Summary: **L is an impostor. He is not Lawliet, the baggy eyed, sweets loving detective, but no one knows about the fraud. In fact, in the rest of the world's eyes, L is still L, working on the Kira case. There is only one Boy who knows that L is a phony, but he is confined in a prison by the impostor. After being beaten for hours upon hours for countless months, he struggles to remember his own identity. The phony L uses the boy for his genius, keeping his eye on Light and soon, Light's fate becomes intertwined with the strange Boy's. Can you solve the mystery before the Boy does? It is **not** what you are expecting.

**Rating: **Violent images and profanity.

**There will be no pairings. Don't read this if you're searching for romance. Sorry =\. I probably lost half of you already, but whatever.  
**

* * *

The Boy wandered, unsure of his destination. There was nothing to look forward to except the black abyss that awaited him. His legs moved independently, as if they had traveled this path hundreds of times before. But, the Boy did not know where he would end up. Heels clanked on the ground behind him. He was not alone on his journey, but he couldn't bring himself to turn back. The conspicuous follower taunted him to look, but he would not give in. Whoever, or whatever, was behind him no longer mattered. He was ahead of them for a reason.

Suddenly, the clanking ceased. Dead silence surrounded the Boy; the empty sound deafened him. He no longer could resist; he peered over his shoulder. There was not one follower, but several. Their faces were hollow with shallow, glazed eyes. They were zombies, watching his every move. And he realized he could not escape them.

Shaking, he turned back forward and began to run. The black abyss no longer frightened him, he just could not look back. The zombies were screaming for him, begging him to come back. Their pitiful shrieks soon became horrified gurgles. The Boy glanced back one last time. Each of the zombie's faces were melting. The skin on their cheeks peeled from their faces and their yellow eyes bulged from their skin. Some of their fate came slower than others. A woman, whose stomach bulged with a child, grabbed her neck, wailing as her comrades fell. An older gentleman with a small gray mustache bowed his head, awaiting his own fate.

All around them, the zombies melted into crimson pools. It stained the pregnant woman's dress, until she finally sank into the puddle and became part of it. The pool became a river, which started to charge at the Boy. He turned, trying to run, but his legs gave way. They wouldn't listen as he tossed his body forward. He collapsed, crawling on his hands and knees. The river rushed toward him; it moaned as it got closer. Breathing heavily, the Boy realized there was nothing he could do.

A strange hand suddenly reached out to him. He frantically grabbed it and was yanked up, only to come face to face with a tall, lanky boy. His pitch black eyes were swollen from lack of sleep. He did not appear to be dead, like the others, but the Boy half expected him to melt. He was fragile and thin; his cheek bones jutted out from his face. He moved his lips, but no words came out.

"What?" the Boy tried to say, only to find he was silent, too.

The river raged closer, but it didn't matter anymore. The Boy wanted it to come. He couldn't stand looking at the man in front of him; he needed to escape him. It didn't matter where the river would take him or if he would drown. The Boy backed away from the man and stretched out his arms. Crimson water poured over his body, consuming him.

* * *

Something singed the Boy's chest. His eyes snapped open as he cried out. Gasping, he stared down at the new hole in his chest. It was a perfect crimson circle with a disgusting auburn color in the middle. It nearly matched the scab next to it. After a few seconds of unbearable pain, it began to die down. Thankfully his pain tolerance had sky rocketed, but the reason for this was not too pleasant. He glanced around at the white room, trying to ignore his own blood splatters painting parts of it. This place had been his prison for too long. He couldn't tell what month, season or even year it was. The days blended together when there was no sun to tell time. And his captor refused to give him a calender and clock.

His captor. The Fiend. The Boy decided that the Fiend's goal was to drive him insane, while maintaining his intelligence. Most mornings-or whenever the Boy woke up-the Fiend would force him to do several different logical puzzles. After, he would leave him alone for hours, sometimes days. The days when he left were the Boy's only times of solitude. He could finally just think. He would practice memory tricks and go through various facts to try and keep his sanity. The Boy worked desperately attempting to recover any ounce of his identity, but it somehow slipped through his finger. He couldn't even remember how he managed to forget, or when. He trembled as he thought about it.

"You're awake," a cool, smooth voice suddenly spoke from the doorway. The Boy's stomach dropped. "I tried to wake you up, but you just groaned and kept on sleeping. I guess it just took a few minutes. Maybe you were in a really deep sleep."

"Ye-yes that was probably it," the Boy stammered, avoiding eye contact with the Fiend.

He gulped, suppressing any fears he had. Before he had met the Fiend, nothing frightened him. Even as a child, horror stories didn't phase him. Whatever went bump in the night, he would just come up with a logical reason and explain it to those who were frightened. At least, that's what he could remember. But, the Fiend had ignited a horrifying disease that the Boy wondered if he would ever shake. Besides betrayal, the Fiend had ripped open his head and dug through his skull. He had beaten him mercilessly on several occasions until he was choking on his own blood. Then, he would tend his wounds, kiss him on the forehead and beat him again.

"You've been sleeping for over 14 hours. I was getting concerned. I thought maybe you had reached your limit, but, once again, you've proved me you're stronger than you look," the Fiend did not smirk nor chuckle. His eyes were glazed with indifference. Even at his most vicious points, the Boy would find no life in the cold eyes. Unfortunately, he could relate. He was empty, and found that his face rarely contorted into expressions.

Suddenly, the Fiend lunged at the Boy, snatching his wrists and squeezing them too tight into one hand. He dangled his cigarette in the other. The Boy did not jump, he just started at his captor. The Fiend leaned close to him. His breath stank of cigarettes and coffee, but the Boy was used to the smell. The Fiend always smelt rotten, but it wasn't the Fiend's smell the Boy was concerned with. He tried to cleanse himself whenever the Fiend allowed him to shower, but he continuously felt grimy.

"I need you for something," the Fiend hissed, taking a drag from the cigarette perched between his finger tips.

He always needed the Boy for something.

"What is it?"

The Fiend pulled a file from his jacket pocket while balancing the cigarette between his lips. He dropped the file onto the floor and opened it for the Boy to get a better look. In bold letters at the top it read, "The Kira Case". Paragraphs of technicalities, which the Boy had grown too familiar with, followed the headline. He skimmed them, informing the Fiend when he was done.

Solving cases was another comfort that he had found in his prison. The Fiend needed him and he couldn't solve anything without the Boy; at least, that's what the Fiend claimed. Although he felt a bit like a lap dog when he helped the Fiend, he couldn't help but be satisfied when he found out his assumptions were true.

Kira. A new vigilante who sought after criminals and somehow forced them into cardiac arrest. It sounded impossible, but the challenge intrigued the Boy. After reading through the entire case file, the Boy realized how sore his wrists were from being tied together by the Fiend's finger tips.

"What do you think?" the Fiend asked, finally letting go of his wrists.

"I'll have to read it over a few more times. Can I have this?"

The Fiend nodded and pulled a cigarette from his fresh pack. He lit it and kissed the Boy's forehead gently. The Boy had to resist all his urges to retreat from the kiss, since the consequences were too dire. After a while, he decided his dignity had long evaporated and all that was left was surviving. Even his will to live was faltering.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes," the Boy nodded, his eyes locked on the case file.

This Kira was fascinating; a cold blooded killer judging other cold blooded killers. What right did he have to say who lived and who died? Kira was an idiot; a smart idiot. This person knew exactly what they were doing to cover up their tracks. But, the Boy knew better. There were always loopholes. Always. Kira's own trial would come in a matter of time. He would be judged by righteous people. Or at least people who claimed to be righteous.

The Boy nearly snarled, his mind drifting to the world outside of the prison. He did not yearn for it. In fact, he couldn't help but think society outside of the walls was just as disgusting as the mold that grew on the corners of the room. He had to keep his identity a secret because he was different. The beauty that he created, his genius, was his own. It was rarely seen by others and most of the time, it wasn't appreciated. The judge of righteousness should not be an idiot, but in the outside world, he was surrounded by them. They could not judge him because they did not understand him. Even the Fiend had stumbled in his glorious path. But, the Fiend had taken action.

And that's how he winded up here. Because he was misunderstood. At least, that's what he wanted to believe.

The Boy tried to uncover subtle patterns as he read the case file over and over, but his head started to feel foggy. He was somehow becoming drowsy-had he not slept for 14 hours as the Fiend claimed?

"Wake up," a voice muttered. The Boy's heavy eyelids flickered open.

"I've wanted to ask you something for a few days now. I'm not sure why I waited this long," the voice's owner stood over the Boy's curled up body. With shaking arms, the Boy unraveled himself and sat up. How long had he been out? He glanced down at his wrist, only to find it horridly disfigured and bony. Scars and burns surrounded it, and it was pink from what felt like a carpet burn. He nearly cried out, until his memory of the prison suddenly flooded back. He felt like vomiting.

"What?"

Strangely, the Fiend's eyes glistened. "What is your name?"

The Boy opened his mouth to speak, only to find that he could not think of the answer.

* * *

**Next Chapter Preview:**

Six months later in the Kanto Region of Japan.


	2. Apples

**Have any ideas of the mystery is yet? Probably. Do you know the answer? If you do and you PM the answer, then I'll send you a copy of the next chapter before I actually post it.  
**

**Okay. I probably won't do a lot more A/N's. So I hope you enjoy the rest of the story. Reviews would be lovely.**

* * *

Light had lost track of all the names he'd wrote down. He thumbed through the Death Note's pages for the thirteenth time that day, admiring his work. Crime rates had decreased enormously, all thanks to him. Every day, the world inched closer to his ideal utopia. His visions became the public's vision. And those who disagreed were only doing so because of the false lessons they had been taught. Human rights did not pertain to every human; if he could even call them people. They were monsters, actually. Before he had the Death Note, he would watch their atrocious crimes destroying innocence. If it hadn't been for Light-for Kira-the world would have become a Hell.

So, he had every reason to be proud of himself.

It was almost time for the six o'clock news. After Kira's existence was revealed, anchors seemed more hesitant to announce the news. Especially after L swore to catch Kira. That mindset began to change, however, as the months passed and L never got a step closer to catching Light. The only thing he knew was that Kira was in Japan and may work as either a school teacher or be a full-time student. Even after that, Light had switched up the times to confuse L. Apparently, it worked. The detective was not as brilliant as everyone claimed. Light almost laughed at how easy it was to fool him.

In fact, one day he attempted a trick to see if he could throw L off. He had a prisoner write a message on the wall to see if he could control people before they died. It had worked.

The prisoner carved in the wall with his knife, "Save me". After that, the news blasted for weeks that Kira's victims were aware that Kira was killing them just before they died. Light continued to play with this idea. Criminals would cry before they died, begging someone for help. He made one even write a suicide note, stating that he would rather take his own life, instead of Kira. Another criminal had drawn several rotten apples before his heart stopped pumping. Prison guards, according to the news, stayed on their toes, trying to see if they could prevent the deaths. But, nothing worked. Once their name was written, they were dead.

Then, Light ceased with the experiment. The news casters debated whether Kira was toying with the public, or it was all a strange coincidence. Light searched for L's opinion on the matter, but never found it. In fact, it had been a few months since he heard about L. Maybe the "detective" was off the case. He wasn't getting far anyway. Light smirked, glad that he had retreated. L wasn't much of a threat, anyway. The only real thing the detective had done was prevent some people from agreeing with Kira/Light's ideology sooner.

"Light," Ryuk groaned. "I want apples."

"After the news," Light promised.

The Shinigami had been restless for the past month. Light figured it was because nothing exciting was occurring, at least not on the surface. The truth was the excitement would come at the destination. This stage was the journey, the epic journey that would be told to generations to come. Every epic has a set end, and the world would soon find itself in an existence better than was ever imagined. Light figured even he would be impressed. Humans were capable of so much, but the criminals drained the capability and made people regress. Without them, progress would be possible.

Light smiled at that idea. "Kira leads the world to start a journey to human progress. The results will be the Garden". If Light ever had the chance, he decided he would write a book about Kira. He told this idea to Ryuk. The Shinigami chuckled.

"You write a book about yourself? That's not very modest."

"The world needs to know that Kira is not evil as some claim," Light sighed, wishing he didn't have to explain it to Ryuk. "If I can convince those who are stuck in an old fashioned ideology that this new, modern outlook is the righteous path, it will make my job much easier. There won't be protesters against Kira and people will want to be good. Any pre-notions that evil is 'cool' will be wiped away. Babies will be born pure, and people will die pure."

"Pure? You believe that is progress?"

"Yes," Light nodded. "You can trace humans back to when they were cavemen, yet you will never find a period where man was completely pure and innocent. It just wasn't possible. But, if criminals are wiped from the Earth, there will be no one to spread the bad seeds nor to corrupt children. The temptation to sin will no longer be available, either, if I continue my reign."

The Shinigami stared at Light, his eyes wide. Light couldn't read his expression; Ryuk was too far from being a human. Yet, Ryuk had revealed emotions coarse through his veins. He only slipped a few times, but Light caught him. Of course, he would never tell Ryuk that he knew the Shinigami's secret. After all, it became easier to manipulate Ryuk. And his weakness for apples made him Light's pet. All in all, the Shinigami wasn't bad company as long as his mouth wasn't running. He talked a lot when he was bored.

Light said after he glanced at his watch. One minute until six o'clock. Suddenly, he had the desire to take a walk. There was always the ten o'clock national news; he would have to keep his television low so he didn't wake his parents. He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. After sliding the Death Note into the secret compartment in his drawer, he turned to Ryuk.

"Let's go to the market. I'll buy you a bunch of apples." The Shinigami's eyes lit up.

The navy blue sky was sprinkled with stars, who were just opening their sleepy eyes to welcome the night. Ryuk obediently followed Light down the street, strangely silent. Light didn't let it bother him, though. The marker was nearly empty on account of the time. Only a few stands remained, and even their stocks were running bare. The nearly deserted market reminded Light of a horror film he had once seen about a crazy village. Too bad the movie wasn't frightening, or else Light might have turned away. When they reached the apple stand, Light stood, admiring the perfect red apples. It was the only stand completely filled with the product. The apples were all noticeably fresh and in their prime. It was perfect timing. Light picked out a few of the more dazzling apples, spinning them in his hand.

The seller stood quietly, observing Light as he admired the apples. Light settled on the brightest of the bunch and reached for a paper bag. The seller snatched it before Light could touch it and opened the bag up.

"Which ones?"

"I think I'll just take these five," Light informed the seller, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. "How much?"

"Free of charge," the seller watched him with a vacant expression. His yellow teeth, barely peaking through his pink lips, gave Light an unsettling pit in his stomach.

"Thanks," Light said, clutching the bag of apples. The stranger made him feel uneasy, especially since Light couldn't read his expression. He studied the stranger's face a bit more, then decided he should be on his way before he gave the man the wrong impression.

"Have a good night," he muttered and turned to start his trek home.

"What's your name?" the stranger suddenly asked.

Light halted, unsure of what to make of the gesture. The thought of the man's stoic stare sent shivers down his spine, but he decided he was just letting the nighttime get under his skin. Besides, Light Yagami was unstoppable. He turned back to face the man, whose eyes flickered above Light's head for a brief moment, then locked back on Light's own eyes. Light searched for some form of emotion, some glimmer of laughter, but the man's gaze remained hollow. "Yagami Light, sir. And what's yours?"

"My name is Nori," the stranger answered, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Do you smoke?"

"No," Light shook his head, wondering if he should have kept walking.

Nori shrugged and struck a match, lighting the cigarette. "This is my first time in this neighborhood. I like to travel and sell my apples wherever I can. That's why I'm here so late."

This Nori was becoming more suspicious by the second. Light had never heard of a traveling apple salesman, but he had to give the man the benefit of the doubt. He just would be careful about everything he said, in case, somehow, L was onto him. It was impossible, of course, but there wasn't anything wrong with being too careful. He decided he would talk to the man, see if he gave himself away at all. Or maybe he was just a lonely apple salesman-but Light highly doubted it.

"Do you own an apple orchard?"

"Yes. It's about a two hour drive from here," Nori took a long drag from his cigarette.

When it pulled it from his lips, smoke poured out of his nose. Light wanted to ask him where the farm was, but if it was in a rural town, he probably never heard of it anyway. Nori could say any word that came to the top of his head. Of course, Light would have looked it up later. If this man was lying, though, he probably would've looked up a rural town a few hours away. And if he wasn't lying, then he gave Light the creeps for worse reasons. Maybe his name would wind up in the Death Note.

"I'm assuming you live close by, right?"

Light decided it didn't matter whether Nori was suspicious of Light or just an ordinary apple farmer; there was something strange about him and Light didn't want to stick around to find out what. "Yes. Actually, my mother wanted me to be back for night time. I'm a little late so I should hurry home so she doesn't worry. It was nice meeting you," he snapped on his heels and took off before the stranger could say anything else. Yet, he could feel Nori's eyes digging into the back of his neck until he turned a corner.

He leaned against the wall and glanced around to make sure he was alone. Then, he rummaged through the brown bag and pulled out a shiny apple for Ryuk. The Shinigami devoured it, chomping loudly. Ryuk moaned unnecessarily as he finished the last bit and swallowed the core.

"Thanks, Light," he chirped. "Is your mom actually waiting for you?"

"No."

"Did that guy give you the creeps as well?" Ryuk snickered. "Humans don't usually frighten me, but there was something wrong with that guy. Maybe it was his smile."

Light stared at the Shinigami's own plastered smile. How would it feel to spend eternity with a permanent smile? It was like having lockjaw. Ryuk never frowned, even if he was in a bad mood, because he couldn't. His chilling grin would continue to give the illusion that he was happy all the time, but Light knew better. The Shinigami was actually quite lonely and bored, which is why he dropped the Death Note in the first place. Of course, Ryuk would never admit he was lonely, but it was just another one of his traits that Light used to his advantage.

"Yes, you're probably right." He tossed Ryuk another apple. If Nori was following him, he would just have to be extra careful while using the Death Note. As long as he only used it in his room, there was no way he would get caught. And if Nori wasn't following him, Light hoped he would never run into him again.


	3. Accustomed

"Keep your fingers steady," the Fiend glanced up towards the Boy as he encased the Boy's right hand in bandages. The Boy wished he could oblige, but the endeavor failed as trembles wracked through his body.

He wanted to apologize and beg for forgiveness, but the Fiend's anger already escalated past it's peak once that hour; the Boy didn't want to remind him. Every day, he apologized the Fiend. The Fiend would just watch him with cool eyes until tears poured down the Boy's cheeks. He had heard of a sickness once, where a captive falls in love with his captor, although he wasn't sure where he heard it. Love wasn't the word to describe how the Boy felt towards Fiend, though. Maybe respect-or fear. But he always felt the need to apologize.

The Fiend finished wrapping the Boy's broken fingers, each which he snapped only minutes before. "You didn't touch your food," the Fiend noted. "Was it not good enough for you?"

"No, I lost my appetite," the Boy muttered, examining the Fiend's careful bandaging.

The Fiend's first aid skills progressively increased. Originally, when he used to singe the Boy with his cigarette, he would drench a towel with alcohol and drip it into the open wound. If the Boy even winced, the Fiend would strike him. However, he purchased a new disinfectant, which bubbled and fizzed in the gashes and burns. He would gently apply it to the Boy's wound. It barely added to the pain.

The Fiend stood up and plucked the full plate from the ground. "Well, where did it go?"

"What?"

Suddenly, the Fiend whacked the Boy's face with the plate, smashing the glass against his cheek bones. Food scattered across his lap. "Eat it."

The Boy trembled, reaching his good hand towards the mush on his knee. He brought it up to his mouth, but as soon as it past his lips, he felt like gagging. He shuddered, but swallowed it, maintaining a composed expression. The Fiend despised when the Boy revealed any hint of emotions. And if the Fiend ever felt any himself, the Boy never noticed. And the Boy noticed everything.

He swallowed another handful, trying his best to keep the food in his esophagus. His stomach roared with displeasure, bubbling and churning. The Boy just took one more bite. "I'm sorry," he muttered as he swallowed. The Fiend didn't respond.

When the Boy finished the scraps surrounding him, the Fiend placed the ever-growing manilla envelope on the Boy's lap. The Kira case became the only window the Boy had to the outside world. After about six months of following it, he knew everything there was to know about Kira. All except his identity. A pang shivered through his heart as he thought about it.

As Kira's power increased, the list of suspects narrowed, but not by much. There were television shows solely dedicated to his work, and hundreds upon hundreds of people came forward, claiming they were Kira. But none of them were; none of them could prove it. Newscasters and journalists constantly debated whether Kira was just or just a psychopath. Some even died because of their claims. Yet, Kira's grip on the world only tightened. Several countries, including the United States, already gave in and promised to cease their hunt for Kira. It seemed he was winning.

But the Fiend didn't believe it was true. In fact, he recently obtained a list of names from the Japanese Police Force and claimed that someone either on the list, or closely related, was Kira. The Boy though it was a preposterous claim, but never said anything. He just studied the force until his eyes burned. The Fiend seemed determined, but he just wanted proof. So, the Boy searched for it, but never found much. Besides, it was nice to look at pictures of other people. Bright eyed, round faced, happy people.

The Boy had forgotten joy.

When the Fiend finally left him alone, the Boy gave into the sensation tearing at his stomach. He ran to the bathroom, a small room with a toilet, a sink with only hot water, and a small shower with no curtain. His collapsed to his knees and threw up into the bowl, gripping the metal seats. The pain subsided and he flushed his meal for that day down. He leaned his head against the sink, panting. Suddenly, another wave ruptured and he lost more of his dinner. His body trembled and he waited for a few minutes.

When he was sure he was finished being sick, he wobbled back to his cot and curled under the thin, tattered sheet. He stared at the Kira Case file for a few minutes and opened it up, again. The Fiend, or "L," recently broadcasted a "live" event where a fake of the already imposter L appeared on television and claimed he was after Kira. He broadcasted it in different areas of the world at different times. It was a brilliant plan, and it only took the Boy a few days to come up with. He started in Asia, because it's where most of Kira's victims were. The fake finally suffered from a heart attack when the event was shown in the Kanto region of Japan. And, although the Boy couldn't place his finger on where exactly the Fiend was holding him, he knew that they were located in Japan.

Kira was close by. The idea almost comforted the Boy.

He read over the case one last time before his eyes finally grew too weary to see. He settled his cheek against his pillow, inviting sleep's comforting arms.

And just like that, he was running across an open field. Tall grass encased him in a jungle of flowers and a blue canopy. The meadow extended as far as he could see. He kept running, unsure where this energy erupted from. Something snapped behind him. He stumbled a bit and glanced back, expecting to see more grass. Instead, crimson waves licked at the grass. He watched, frozen, as the current picked up and the ocean of red inched towards him. In the distance, a boat with tattered sails rose along the horizon.

Somehow, the Boy knew who was on that boat. Yes, the apparition with the tangled black hair and baggy eyes, who always appeared in his dreams, was steering it. The Boy trembled and took a step back. A huge, crimson wall suddenly towered over the boat and swallowed whole. The Boy cried out and turned around, wanting to escape the horror. Instead, he came face to face with the thin apparition. The Boy tried to speak, but the apparition placed a finger on his lips.

"I'm sorry," the apparition muttered.

The Boy woke up in a sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, but he had grown familiar with the feeling of panic. Nightmares normally plagued him, but he enjoyed them much more than reality. At least in his dreams, he saw a world beyond these white walls. A world he didn't recognize, yet knew so well. And the apparition, as horrifying as he was, reminded him of someone he was once close to.

The words the apparition spoke echoed through the Boy's skull as he stood up and stumbled to the bathroom. Just as the Boy went to wash his hands, his stomach kicked again and he fell to his knees to throw up once more.

"What's wrong with me?" he muttered, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

The sour taste lingered on his tongue, even after he washed his mouth out. He made his way back to the cot, dragging his good hand against the wall. His fingers traced dried blood, his own blood. Each splatter told a different story, reminded him of a different memory.

One of his first memories, since all his others were obliterated, was when the Fiend had smashed his head into the wall and knocked the Boy unconscious. He awoke a day later, dazed and agitated. There was this deep frustration buried within him, not just because of the pain, but something the Boy feared far more. Unsure of who he was before he entered that room, ideas of his past life bombarded him. He played fabricated scenarios over in his head for how exactly he got there. Maybe he was a genius and the Fiend spotted him. Maybe he was once someone great, someone who was missed. Or maybe he and the Fiend were once an alliance. The latter, at the time, frightened him the most.

Now, he would give anything just to remember something. Even if that profound, horrifying desire he felt that day after waking up meant he was once a monster, at least he would know. Anything was better than only knowing what the Fiend provided.

His stomach ached from hunger, yet the thought of food made him nauseous. He glanced towards the metal sealed door, wishing he could just catch a glimpse of what the room outside looked like. But the Fiend would never allow that. Of course he wouldn't.

He wasn't sure how long he was staring at it before a click from the other side echoed into the room. He peered at the crack, where a small streak of light cascaded down. A shadow covered it, then the door opened. The Fiend slipped into the room, carrying a plate full of mush. The Boy never had a clue what the Fiend was feeding him, but he'd grown accustomed to the bitter taste.

"How did you sleep?"

It was a rhetorical question. A social necessity, if the Boy recalled right. The Fiend didn't care how he slept, as long as he was alive and pursuing Kira. The Boy didn't respond, and that was how the Fiend liked it.

The Fiend glanced down at the Boy's bandaged hand, but didn't utter a word about it. Instead, his cold eyes flicked back up to the Boy's own and he placed the plate in front of him. The Boy wanted to speak, to ask a question, to scream, anything to make the Fiend stay for just a few more minutes of company, but those few minutes would mean a severe beating. The company wasn't worth it.

Without another word, the Fiend left the Boy alone again. As always, a gnawing feeling of despair and relief washed over him all at once. His right hand pulsed with pain, but he didn't mind. He'd grown accustomed to the bruises, burns, and gashes. He touched his bandage, wincing as he felt his crooked index finger. "I'm sorry," he found himself mumbling.


	4. Darkness

Something troubled the Boy. An invisible finger prodded him, unspoken words gnawed at him. He lay on his cot, pressing his cheek against the too soft pillow. The thin strip of fabric between him and the floor slid as he flipped onto his back, ignoring the pain coursing through him. He glanced down at the back of his hand, studying his new burn. The Fiend placed it precisely in the center, an image which the Boy knew, but couldn't remember.

The world outside of the room, the one he could only experience through the cases that the Fiend provided, remained strange to him. He did not know what the sun looked like, although he knew it's name. He remembered grass, but couldn't think of a visual. Meadows and flowers, all words that wracked his thoughts, yet never produced more than the letters of the definitions. He retrieved knowledge, but never visuals. Besides the Fiend, he didn't know what other humans looked like. Not even himself.

He stretched his fingers. Pain washed across his skin, but it didn't bother him. He understood the concept of time, but could not remember what a clock looked like. And any sense of time that he once had, if he had any, completely faltered since he first entered that room. Days, nights, one with sun, one with out. He could only relate the visuals to darkness and light. If there was more, he couldn't remember.

Suddenly, he found himself standing up. His body ached, swaying. Still unable to retain any nutrition, his already thin frame continued to shrink. The Fiend noticed his slimming figure and when he asked, the Boy lied. An irking feeling that he was committing a blasphemous act when he lied grew by the day. The Fiend's law were not the only ones he knew; he remembered morals and ethics. He remembered police and the courts. Yet, the Fiend's laws were the only ones he began to recognize. The others, although it was entirely probable that they were once part of his life, imprinted little meaning on his conscience. And for some reason, it infuriated him.

Each time he vomited, he wondered what would happen if he starved. The thought of death scared him less every day. In fact, it became a growing comfort. It would free him from the room, from the Fiend. He would be able to breathe fresh air and maybe, just maybe, he would remember. He stopped resisting the urges to vomit. In fact, he would gorge himself so he became sick faster. Eternal sleep; heaven; hell; he was ready to die. He _wanted_ to die. It should have scared him, a part of him said, but it didn't.

He wobbled towards the bathroom, unsure where he feet were carrying him. Just as he reached for the knob, the door on the opposite side of the room swung open. The Fiend clutched a plastic pouch, filled with an odd colored liquid. A long hose with a needle at the end was attached to the bottom of the bag. The Boy glanced at the Fiend and backed against the door.

"Lie down," The Fiend instructed.

The needle caught the fluorescent lighting, glimmering as a cat's eyes do in the dark. Anxiety rose in The Boy's chest. He attempted to suppress it as he obliged the Fiend's demand, but his knees trembled. The cot felt stiffer than normal as The Boy lied down. The Fiend grabbed his wrist and gripped it until the Boy's hand turned purple.

"Don't move," he muttered as he sank the needle into a bulging vein on the Boy's arm. The Boy watched as the depleting liquid crawled down the hose and poured into his vein. Whatever pumped through him, poison or not, he was ready to accept it. Besides, the thoughts of freedom comforted him far beyond anything else.

But no pain arose, even after a few minutes. The Fiend watched the bag, which was still almost full. The Boy refrained from questioning the odd liquid which coursed through him, afraid to bother the Fiend.

As if the Fiend could hear the Boy's thoughts, he informed the Boy that liquid nutrients were currently filling up his system in hopes to help him gain weight and become healthy again. Or at least how healthy the Boy was prior to his rapid weight loss.

The comfort of death, the hopes of freedom, slipped away as the pouch pumped more nutrients into the Boy's body. He withered, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry. A tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another. Suddenly, sobs wracked his chest and he yanked his arm from the Fiend. The needle, which was still jammed into his vein, ripped out of him, taking skin with it. He cried out, cradling his arm. Blood poured down him, dripping onto the cot.

A horrific pain, unlike any he encountered before, surged up his arm. He wailed, watching as a pool of blood formed by his knee. Then, he caught his own reflection. His cheeks were gaunt and his lips were pale. Solid black eyes, screened by a pink cloud and tears, gazed back at him. It was a strangers face, but he knew it was his. The tears stopped and the pain was pushed to the back of his mind. Since he arrived in the room, he had never seen anything so fascinating. With his good hand, he reached down and touched his reflection, causing a ripple.

The Fiend, who was watching him in silence, finally yanked the Boy's arm from him and applied pressure to the wound. "Why did you do that?" he asked coolly.

"I want to die," the Boy responded. The words eased him.

Suddenly, the side of the Fiend's lip twitched. His lip snaked upwards, his cheek indented, and his eyes lit up with a fire which singed the Boy. And a chortle erupted deep from within the Fiend's stomach. "You want to die?" he snarled, sneering and howling. "You want to _die_?"

As suddenly as he started, he composed himself and tightened his grip on the Boy's still bleeding arm. He lifted one finger and let it linger above the Boy's open wound before he plunged it into the Boy's skin. The Boy cried out, trying to pull his arm away. The Fiend snarled, laughing again. "I won't let you die."

He reached into his back pocket and plunged another needle, attached to a tourniquet, into the Boy's arm. He injected the clear liquid inside and, before the Boy could even protest, a strange sensation started to bubble through his body. Sleep swept him away, cradling him in its warm arms.

* * *

Light winced as his doctor pulled the needle from his arm. "You're all set," the doctor smiled at him. "I'll see you in a few months."

"Yeah, thanks," Light muttered and hopped off the table. Outside, in the waiting area, Ryuk was reading over the secretary's shoulder. In fact, his chin was perched on the woman's shoulder. If anyone else had seen the Shinigami, they would have assumed he merely enjoyed what he read. However, the large grin always remained planted on his face, no matter what the circumstances. As if he thought the whole world was a joke. Light couldn't blame him for taking life so lightly. Ryuk couldn't comprehend mortality; he didn't understand how important life was.

But Light did, which was why he tried to protect as many as he could by taking just a few away. Well, maybe more than a few. With a subtle head nod, he signaled at Ryuk to follow him. The Shinigami immediately rose his chin from the secretary's shoulder and floated towards Light.

"Oy, Light, how did the doctors go?" Light simply glowered at Ryuk in a response. "We should go back to that apple market."

As they exited the doctor's office, Light turned on his heels, almost brushing noses with Ryuk. "What have you done recently for me?"

Ryuk just chuckled, but left the question unanswered. They walked in silence for most of the walk. L's dubious plans, which kept catching Light by his toes, were becoming too much of a hassle. After he killed the random criminal, instead of the real L, Light knew he had to be a lot more carful with his Death Note. Even though it would be almost impossible to pinpoint who Kira is, Light couldn't risk it. L knew what he was doing; he was the world's greatest detective for a reason. Maybe Light didn't have to beat him, just avoid him.

"Light," Ryuk dragged his name out, almost as if to taunt him. Light ignored him.

"Liiight," Ryuk repeated.

"What?" Light snapped.

"There's someone following us."

Light froze in his tracks. He didn't turn his head, in fear of revealing that he was on to his stalker. But he perked his attention, listening for footsteps, shuffling, or even breathing. Nothing. Maybe Ryuk was just paranoid, or attempting to play some sot of sick game with him. Light wouldn't have been surprised.

He kept walking, with Ryuk floating casually behind him. The Death Note was tucked away in his drawer, out of harms way, in case his stalker was just a mugger. A part of Light wanted to confront his follower, in fact. If he could learn the man's name, he might find out he's committed just enough crimes to become one of Kira's new targets. He stopped again and pivoted on his heels.

"I know you're following me," he called out into the darkness. He waited, listened, for something, but there was no response. He threw Ryuk a glare, almost disappointed that no one was there. Just before he turned around, though, footsteps echoed in the night.

A shadowed figure, cloaked by a large hat and a beige trench coat, stepped under the street lamp. The light washed over him, creating a shadow which reached it's dark fingers towards Light. The hat shielded the man's eyes, but Light could see his thin lips, parted and relaxed.

"Who are you?"

"Kira," the man responded. Light's heart pounded in his chest. He took a step back, but maintained his calm demeanor. There was no use in becoming frantic over a liar. Besides, this man didn't know who he was speaking to.

"Well, _Kira_," Light narrowed his eyes. "What can I do for you?"

"Do I not frighten you?"

"Not particularly. According to the media, you're a vigilante of sorts. I have no criminal record, nor have I done anything which the law would consider wrong."

"How about God?"

Light raised his eyebrow. The corner of his lip twitched as he suppressed a smile. "I don't believe in God."

The stranger remained silent. He slipped his hands into his pockets and opened his mouth, as if about to say something. Ryuk's sudden chuckle broke the silence. Light shifted his gaze from the stranger to the floating Shinagami. Ryuk tilted his head as the corner of his lips crawled farther up his cheeks.

"Light, are you going to allow this man to lie to you?" he snickered.

Under the stranger's watch, Light couldn't retaliate. Instead, he turned his attention back to the shadowed statue. A plane flew over them, roaring until it vanished into the night's clouds.

"What do you want?" Light finally called. "I don't have time for games, _Kira_."

"Why do you not fear me?" the stranger asked again, his voice too calm.

A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Light's neck, and it took him a moment to realize that his hands were trembling. The man suddenly smiled; he must have noticed. This man knew something. He knew something, and he was dangling it above Light's head. Though it seemed almost unimaginable, an inkling that this stranger knew Light's secret irked him. But how?

Light couldn't respond. Fear smothered his logic. He suddenly wanted to run, but his feet were rooted into the concrete.

"Why do you not fear me, _Kira_?" The man purred.

The fog of fear suddenly cleared. This man had no proof, and he certainly could not know about the Death Note. Unless the man standing before him was L. Light suddenly turned on his heels, too sick to fight his honor. He just had to flee before…before what? He started to run.

Something snipped into the back of his neck. A sudden calming sensation rushed through his veins. His legs slowed down, but he had to keep going. He stumbled on into the dark, clutching anything that could hold him up. His muscles relaxed and his vision began to blur. "Ryuk. Help me," he mumbled, although the words jumbled together.

He fell forward as a dark haze swallowed him whole.


End file.
